


The Inexpressible Comfort of Feeling

by qthelights



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Dubious Consent, Episode: s01e06 Countrycide, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-06
Updated: 2008-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/pseuds/qthelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wounds aren't only skin deep.  Set during Countrycide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inexpressible Comfort of Feeling

Ianto was sitting on the rear bumper of the SUV, dazedly letting the drugs the medic had shot into his arm sink into his mind and muscles. The pale dawn sun that rose over the surrounding mountains was warm on his face and reassured him that he was, despite the odds, quite alive. He was bruised and maybe a little concussed and he had a nice long scar along his throat where the cleaver had rested, but he was alive and the drugs were beginning to work, and that was okay.

He could hear Gwen talking sharply with Jack and Owen and he sensed rather than saw her storming off into the surrounding countryside. He supposed he should make sure someone was going to keep an eye on her but he couldn’t quite summon up the energy to move. Maybe Owen would go after her. He seemed to be hovering around them this morning. Or maybe just around Gwen.

Closing his eyes he opted to let someone else deal with it and relaxed, letting the warmth of the sun seep into his skin. If he ignored the events that brought them here, the horrors on the other side of the stone brickwork, then it was really quite pleasant. Maybe he should be more concerned, but he was pretty sure that would require effort of some sort. He scrunched the tips of his boots into the gravel, enjoying the crisp clacking sound it made. And if he kept his eyes closed he also didn’t have to see the villagers that the police officers and paramedics were carting away.

Tosh was around somewhere, gadgets uselessly in hand, trying to make sense of something that wouldn’t be made sense of. He could practically see her trying to fit the horror into neat little boxes of sense as she talked softly with police, crime scene techs, Jack. She eventually stopped trying and silently checked their scattered gear that Jack had made some rookie cop retrieve from the campsite.

Every so often he heard Jack’s voice, quietly commanding something be done a certain way. Ianto was fairly sure the police and techs knew what they were doing, but there was no arguing with Jack this morning. He wasn’t sure why they were still here really; they’d given statements hadn’t they? And aliens weren’t attacking. Ianto supposed Jack wanted some kind of control over things, and really, wasn’t it bad manners to leave a crime scene you sort of shot to bits?

He was vaguely aware of time passing, in a swirly, woozy kind of way, though it could only have been a few minutes surely, when a shadow turned the hazy red of his sun-tinted world to black. Ianto opened his eyes, having to blink a couple of times to clear the smudgy focus of the pain meds, and found Jack towering in front of him, looking down with a frown.

“Ianto?” Jack asked, voice gravelly with fatigue and concern. At this point, Ianto couldn’t quite grasp what there was to be concerned _about_ but he assumed that this must mean the drugs were working.

“Sir?” he peered up at Jack blearily, wondering what he might have forgotten to do. “Did you need coffee…?”

“Coffee?” Jack looked almost puzzled.

“It’s morning,” Ianto replied, because it was, and that made sense. He glanced over at the stone buildings, “I’m sure I could find a kettle, or something.” 

Jack seemed to visibly pale as he followed Ianto’s gaze towards the hostel. 

“Ianto. No.”

Jack sounded almost angry now, and Ianto _really_ didn’t understand that. He was only trying to do what he was meant to do. Had he fucked up again? He didn’t think he’d mentioned Lisa this time, hadn’t he been talking about coffee? 

Before he could formulate a response, which admittedly seemed to be taking rather longer than usual, Jack had gripped his wrist tightly, and pulled him up from the car. Ianto grunted in surprise and tried to keep from falling over as Jack set off towards the nearest building, fingers still tight on his wrist, around the mark of red-purple chafed skin. Ianto thought they must be going inside, Jack must want coffee after all, and briefly he felt an unexplained surge of panic rip down the back of his throat, but Jack dragged him past the doors and veered left down one of the narrow laneways between the houses. Ianto stumbled over the grass and clods of dirt but Jack didn’t slow, only tightened his grip as he pulled him behind the row of buildings.

The world tipped and stuttered behind Ianto’s eyes and he thought he was about to fall, embarrassingly, and in front of his boss like some kind of uncoordinated idiot. Although Jack probably had worse things in mind for him than a mere fall seeing as he had gone to the trouble of bringing them to this semi-seclusion. Whatever he was about to do to Ianto, he didn’t want people seeing him do it. At least he was already doped up Ianto thought and repressed the sickly giggle that threatened to bubble up his throat.

Jack all but lunged at him the second they were free of the passage and Ianto flinched in anticipation of the blow that was surely coming.

But didn’t.

Jack shoved him up against the cold bluestone wall behind him, crowding in on Ianto, his body pressing against him and his breath hot against Ianto’s cheek. Ianto looked up, startled, but couldn’t quite achieve focus on Jack’s gaze, though he saw the flashing blue dance on the sides of his vision.

“You are not just the coffee boy, Ianto.” Jack growled out in even staccato. “Understand?”

Ianto nodded, too surprised to do anything that required higher brain function. Jack didn’t break his stare, and when Ianto didn’t voice his reply he tried again, voice as forceful and demanding as the hands that were currently nailing Ianto’s shoulders to the rough stone wall.

“Ianto. Understand?”

“Y-yes.” Ianto managed to get out, frozen between wall and Jack and not at all sure of what was going on.

Jack’s gaze flickered away and he dropped his forehead against Ianto’s. “God, Ianto,” his breath hitched suspiciously and when he spoke again it was in an angry whisper, almost to himself. “Not just the teaboy.”

Jack tilted the angle of head and suddenly Ianto found himself being rather unexpectedly kissed. He jerked back in surprise, head hitting the roughly hewn rock and reverberating inside his skull, though it didn’t seem to hurt all that much. Jack had pulled back and sworn softly, but he hadn’t moved away, was still stretched against him, seemingly waiting for…something. Ianto blinked at him desperately trying to get his mind to focus, just for a minute, just until he could figure out the alarmingly strange look of what he thought might be desperation carved on Jack’s face. 

Ianto carefully planned a reply, a question of what, exactly, was going on just now and, maybe more importantly, _why_ was it going on. But when Ianto opened his mouth to speak it, all that came out was a slightly mortifying whimper. 

This seemed to give Jack an answer to an unvoiced question and quickly Jack’s mouth was back on his, hot and wet and very needy. It might have been the drugs, though were Ianto a little more sober he would have recognized and denied the lie in that, but he found he didn’t object to this turn of events actually and Jack was warm and alive and wedged so tightly against him that it was all he could do to respond fast enough. 

His mouth opened and Jack’s tongue thrust urgently inside, bashing and twining messily against his own. Teeth clacked awkwardly and Jack brought a hand up against the back of Ianto’s head, shielding him from further damage and allowing for more control. Ianto’s eyes closed and he drifted behind his eyelids, submerging himself in the feel of Jack’s tongue flicking at the inside of his mouth, Jack’s teeth latching and puncturing the soft skin of his bottom lip, Jack’s free arm sliding behind the small of his back and pulling them tighter together.

“Jack?” Ianto managed to splutter as they break for air, because ‘sir’ seemed wrong given the situation.

“Shhh, Ianto,” Jack muttered softly, his fingers threading through the hair at the back of Ianto’s neck, fingernails gently scratching. “It’s okay. Just let me, please? Let me fix this.”

“Okay,” Ianto replied. He wasn’t sure what he needed help with exactly, but was fairly sure it didn’t matter; especially when Jack started grinding his hips against Ianto’s, causing a low moan to escape Ianto’s bruised lips.

“That’s right,” Jack muttered against his ear, dipping his mouth to bite sharply on Ianto’s earlobe causing a shudder to jolt straight down his spine to his beginning erection. “Just let me, Ianto.”

So Ianto let him. Jack continued to pulse and move against him, mouth reclaiming Ianto’s with practised ease. Ianto’s head was filled with sound and eddying light, the heady mix of Jack’s sweat, the dirt and blood from their clothes. Grass and gunpowder intermingled and added to the euphoric feeling of the pain killers coursing through Ianto’s system.

Jack eased Ianto’s legs apart with his thigh, pressing closer still and the adrenaline and sudden shock of feeling Jack’s erection hard against his hip cut through the numbing clouds, startling Ianto into reality, and the realization that he was currently moaning and rutting against his boss out the back of a farmhouse where cannibals had tried to _eat him_. 

Ianto choked back a shuddery gasp, and the sound made Jack kiss him harder, his lips bruising as his tongue demanded and claimed. Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack’s back, his bloodied, wounded fingers clenching at the thick material of Jack’s greatcoat, holding on for dear _life_. 

Jack broke the kiss, pulling back slightly and his mouth latched onto Ianto’s throat instead, sucking and licking, _biting_ at the angry-red slash and he groaned in sad arousal when Ianto hissed at the bite of saliva in the wound.

The drugs were dulling, the high from the initial dose ebbing and giving way to a softer sedation through which Ianto was beginning to feel the ache of his bruised and battered body. Jack’s hands over his chest, probing and scrabbling against the pattern of bruises under Ianto’s shirt. Ianto wasn’t going to stop him though, even as his moans of arousal were mixed with those of pain as it flashed across his chest, white-hot and sharp. Jack’s hands wound their way under Ianto’s bloodied shirt, suddenly becoming gentle as they found warm, live, skin. Ianto leaned his head back gently against the wall, staring up at the blue Welsh sky and heaved air into his sore lungs as Jack’s hands brushed softly over his stomach, fingers tracing the edge of Ianto’s jeans.

Jack looked up at him, and Ianto found, with some relief, that he was able to really _see_ Jack again. The steely blue gaze was confident and steady, radiating need and compassion. Ianto thought he should say something, anything really, but instead he was silent and only gasped softly as Jack’s fingers found the zip of his jeans and dragged it slowly down. Jack continued to stare at him, also silent, letting his fingers work on feel alone, slipping the button of Ianto’s jeans free and sliding his hand inside to cup Ianto’s hard cock through the soft material of his briefs.

Ianto bucked into Jack’s hand and a keening whimper escaped his throat.

“Oh god, Jack,” he muttered, eyes fluttering closed as Jack rubbed him firmly through the cloth.

Jack’s lips returned to Ianto’s, soft and chaste, tasting instead of taking. “You have no idea,” Jack murmured whisper-quiet against the corner of Ianto’s mouth, “How long I have needed to do this to you, Ianto Jones.”

Ianto’s eyes flickered back open in surprise, but even as his mouth opened to question, Jack shushed him, kissed him into submissive silence. “Later,” Jack said.

Jack wound his fingers under the elastic of Ianto’s underwear and his palm was fire-hot against the sensitive flesh of Ianto’s cock. Jack wrapped his fingers around him, firmly, and began to slide over him, catching the liquid beginning to seep from him, tugging and pushing and coaxing a litany of cries and moans to fall from Ianto’s mouth. Jack’s mouth was at his ear, murmuring warm nonsense tinged with an anguish that Ianto didn’t understand.

Jack’s hand moved faster and Ianto’s hips bucked up into it, threaded together by the pulse of pleasure and need where they touched. Ianto felt his breathing start to hitch as the tightening tingling began low in his gut, his muscles aching to release. 

“I’m going to… Jack… _god, Jack…_ ” Ianto tried to warn, contorting, back held up by the wall, hips pushing forward towards Jack’s hand.

“Good,” Jack growled in his ear, pressed further against him, trapping hand and cock between them, the slide changing to stuttering jerks. Ianto shuddered at the predatory tone and cried out as he jerked and came over Jack’s hand, hot and thick. He was vaguely aware of snatches of Jack’s voice in his ear, words like “alive” and “safe” and other things that didn’t, _shouldn’t_ , make sense.

They leant against each other, against the wall, panting, sweating, and breathing. Jack’s forehead against Ianto’s, wet with perspiration. Jack wiped his hand off on the stone of the wall beside them. Ianto remained stock still while his head swam dizzily, the drugs objecting to the further loss of oxygen and blood flow. Jack carefully, tenderly, tucked him back into his briefs, zipped him up as Ianto watched silently.

Jack settled back against Ianto, arms wrapping around his waist and face nestled in a strangely intimate way in the crook of Ianto’s neck. Ianto just held on, unsure of the situation, but certain he shouldn’t let go. When Jack raised his head he kissed Ianto again, running his tongue over Ianto’s bottom lip. The kiss deepened but remained languid. Ianto felt Jack’s body rubbing against his in short, shivering snatches. Jack’s trouser-clad erection was still pressed tightly to Ianto’s hip and thigh. He wondered if he should offer to reciprocate, but what exactly was the etiquette when your boss jerked you off unexpectedly in country Wales?

The answer became irrelevant as Jack’s hips twitched erratically against his thigh and a sorrowful moan cut off in his throat as he shuddered and quaked against Ianto in trembling orgasm.

It was long silent minutes before Jack pulled back, leaving a cold vacuum where he’d been plastered up against Ianto. A handkerchief from a deep pocket in Jack’s coat was produced, and Ianto thought briefly that that was so very _Jack_ , before he fixed his gaze pointedly above Jack’s shoulder as Jack undid his belt and cleaned himself off. It was somewhat ridiculous, considering what they had just done, and Jack made no move to distance himself from Ianto or indicate any kind of modesty.

“Well that was…unexpected,” Ianto managed as Jack re-zipped and belted.

Jack cocked his head at him, smile rueful, “Not really.”

“Oh,” Ianto replied, again at a loss for words, something that was really becoming quite annoying. “I see,” he added, and pushed off the wall, wobbling a little as the drugs, tortured exhaustion and post-orgasm fatigue hit him all at the same time.

Jack reached out to steady him, his hand firm on Ianto’s arm. “I’m sorry, Ianto. I shouldn’t have…you’re hurt, and doped up…,” he smiled wryly, free hand fluttering a gesture at the countryside. “Bad timing,” he frowned in apology.

“Maybe a little, sir,” Ianto conceded, realizing his head was beginning to pound and his left side starting to ache in earnest.

“I just,” Jack began, seeming to consider his words carefully, “I needed to make sure, that you…that I…” 

Jack gave up with a frustrated sigh, turned to face the countryside behind him with a baleful stare. Daring it to try again, give him an excuse.

“I know,” Ianto answered, because he found that he did. He reached out a hand, wincing at the pain such small a movement brought, and placed his palm against Jack’s shoulder blade.

Jack let out a shuddery breath and seemed to shake himself back into normalcy.

“Right,” Jack said firmly, turning back. He cupped Ianto’s elbow and lead him back down the passageway towards the light of the yard beyond. “Let’s finish up. Later we heal.” 

Ianto wondered, as they stepped into the bright sunlight of the yard and Jack’s hand fell away, just who it was that needed healing more after the disastrous events of the last day and a half. Perhaps it wasn’t just those of them who needed more painkillers.

Jack allowed him to glimpse a small, thankful, smile before he strode off to gather his wayward, damaged team. 

A flicker of hope and absolution flared deep in Ianto’s chest and nestled next to the bruises and tenderized flesh.


End file.
